


In Vino Veritas

by Lascia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lascia/pseuds/Lascia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment of truth between Sansa and Sandor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Rated for swearing, because Sandor likes to drop a few F-bombs. 
> 
> I also have no idea where this fits in ASOIAF canon. Let's assume that Sansa leaves with Sandor on the night of Blackwater.

His auburn-haired beauty had kissed him, once. It had happened at the conclusion of a small feast, held to celebrate a spate of births in the Winter town. The lady of Winterfell was perhaps a little too far gone in her cups, though not so much that she couldn’t bid her guests a warm good night and express her wish that they continue to celebrate without her. As the people cheered their thanks and smiled and sang only the faithful dog saw his lady fumble against her chair and step on the hem of her soft grey gown.

“My Lady”. As he had done a hundred times before, Sandor offered his arm to the eldest Stark girl. Sansa thanked him with a brief smile, a flash of warmth on such a cold night. She allowed him to lead her out of the hall and towards her chambers.

They walked in silence as they were oft to do. Though it was slight and soft, Sansa’s hand weighed heavily on her Shield’s arm. He wondered at the intimacy of such a thing, the hand of a girl on the arm of a beast. If he peeled back his armour and his woollen undershirt, if he bared his skin to the chill of the air, would he see evidence of fresh burns in the shape of thin fingers and rounded finger tips? It would not surprise him; such was the effect this young maiden had on him.

“The people seem happy.”

Her voice was so quiet he almost did not hear her speak. Sandor halted his movement. “That they do, my Lady. So they should be after all that you and your young brothers have done for them.”

“It is our duty to care for them, to make amends for all they have suffered due to our.. due to _my_ poor judgement. I only wish I had more to give them. Still, the glass gardens will flourish again and in time I will marry and bring wealth and security to the northern people. Perhaps then they shall forgive me.” Sandor could hear a trace of bitterness in her speech but it was covered by her strength and poise.

The last time he had seen Sansa weep was the day they had returned to Winterfell. After a journey of many weeks, facing many trials, they had finally reached the stone walks of the Northern keep. She had fallen to her knees in the snow at the sight of the ruinous castle, heaving great sobs through her frozen lungs. After a time, she had calmed and he helped her stand, wiping her tears from her flushed face. She stared at him for what seemed an eon, before nodding her thanks and turning to walk towards the eastern gatehouse of her home. Since that time no tears had been shed. Sansa had been strong, almost stoic, permitting herself to feel pleasure only in the slow payment of her perceived debt to the northern people.

Sandor wondered if she would cry now. Her voice had trembled but a little, and her face seemed unaffected by the heavy words she had spoken. He was trying to think of what to say to her when she spoke again. “It pleases me that the people were happy tonight, more than I can say. Did you have a pleasant evening, Sandor? I did not notice you drink or dance.”

His laughter echoed against the stone walls as he began to lead her once more towards her chambers. He did not say that he thought she had drunk and danced enough for the both of them. Instead he replied, “Aye, ‘twas a pleasant enough evening. It served its purpose. The people have full bellies and warm hearts and will remember this for some time to come. Enough with this bullshit about forgiveness and poor judgement. All those folk need is work and guidance, a shovel in their hand and a lord to tell them where to dig. They’ve got it all now you and your brothers have returned. They’ve nowt to complain about and if they do they can direct their complaints towards me and my sword. Lighten your heart, my Lady, your people adore you.”

Sansa stopped and withdrew her hand from her Shield’s arm. She stared at him.

“What is this? What are we doing here?” She spoke her frustration in a hard whisper.

“I am escorting you to your chambers as I do every night, my Lady. You spoke to me and I responded.”

“Stop it, Sandor. You know what I speak of!”

In truth, he did not know. All he knew was that standing before him was a goddess of Winter, flame-haired and rose-lipped, near bursting with rage. Sandor wanted to walk away from the intensity of the woman before him but instead he stood, dumbfounded. He could not think to speak. Soon enough he felt shame in his inability to respond to a slip of a _girl_ and his own mind turned to anger.

“I have no fucking idea what you speak of, girl. You’re drunk. Speak some sense before I forget my duty and leave you to walk alone.”

Sansa seemed to grow before him, standing tall in her maelstrom. “I speak of your behaviour towards me, your constant ‘my Lady’ and your politeness and your insistence on being honourable and accountable and I hate it. I hate it all. You belittled me in Kings Landing for my courtesy and yet here you are, returning it to me tenfold. All you do is everything I ask of you and no more. Yes my Lady, no my Lady, of course my Lady. What has happened to turn you against me so?”

If Eddard Stark had waltzed down the corridor with Cersei Lannister on his arm Sandor would not have been as surprised as he was to hear Sansa Stark of Winterfell speak with such anger and bitterness. He stared at her in disbelief.

“Is that what riles you, _my Lady_ , that I speak to you from the position of a servant? You think it proof that I have turned _against_ you? I am what I am, girl. You asked me to stay and act as your guard, your fucking _Sworn Shield_ or whatever shit you came up with. It was you who asked me to train your men, to see that the armoury was stocked, to check that the people you hired were fucking honest and true. Am I here as your guest? Should I be seated by your side at meals, should I take leisure in your company and walk with you and caress your ear with sweet lies? Am I to pour your wine or drink from your cup? Do not spit at me for doing as instructed. You are a Lady and I am your dog, nothing more.”

He did not feel the crack of her palm against his cheek or see the tears spill from her eyes. All he noticed was the feeling that followed, the surprising touch of her hot mouth hard against his own, her lips pressing against his as her hands gripped his shoulders. He felt her soft, wet tongue dart between his lips, he tasted her sweet wine and heard her quiet moan as he surrendered to her kiss. He picked her up by her waist and pressed her against the wall, deepening their embrace, losing himself in the sweet girl in his arms.

Until he remembered who he was and who he was kissing.

_Little Bird.._

He pulled back and lowered her to the ground, a look of horror on his face. As he went to step backwards Sansa reached for his arm. Her voice was shaking as she spoke.

“You used to call me Little Bird - in Kings Landing, on our journey here. You would be honest with me, cruel at times but always honest. You did not care if what you said hurt me because you knew the value of truth. But here... you have changed, Sandor Clegane, and you no longer treat me as you once did. Yes, you are polite and courteous and no person here could fault you for your service to me. Yes, I asked you to help rebuild my home but that was not the true reason I asked you to stay. I cannot imagine a life without you. Since my father’s death, perhaps even before, you have been my one true friend. I trust no-one but you; I _know_ no-one but you. I am sure you look at me and see but a girl, that you think me young and often foolish..”

Sandor had heard enough. “Sansa..”

“Let me tell you how I see you. I see a man who is strong, who can wield a sword or his words with equal ferocity. I see a man who spits at falsity, who dismisses pageantry and spectacle and embraces simple virtues such as hard work and truth. I see a man who has given all to keep me safe and has asked for so little in return. I see a man whom I care for so very much and I wish so desperately that he would care for me in return.”

Her voice trembled and he could see that she struggled with her tears. Fighting against his good sense he took her hand and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. He was sure he could feel her warmth melt his armour and scald his skin – he hoped it to be true so that his flesh could bear witness to the effect that she had on him.

“What would you have me say, Little Bird?”

She sighed against him. “The truth, as always.”

He wished he could strip away his outer layers and feel her heart beat against him.

“The truth, then.”

Sandor tilted back the head of the auburn-haired beauty before him and kissed her lips softly, chastely. He stroked her soft cheek and spoke.

“There’s your truth, Little Bird.”

If he could, he would tell her of the peace he had felt since arriving at Winterfell. He would speak of the calm that had overcome him, the happiness he felt in the monotony of daily labour. He would tell her how his day would not begin until he had seen her safe and well, how his heart would swell with pride as he watched her talk with her people and with her brothers. If he had the words he would tell her that he would die for her in a breath, that he would never leave her side...

...that for so long, so _very_ long, he had loved her and that it was enough to keep him alive.

“We could leave here. Sandor, we could. We could cross the sea, or go north to Jon. I don’t have to marry a nobleman, Bran and Rickon will marry and I could leave. We could leave together.”

As he held her, she cried. A wave of suppressed grief seemed to crash from her lungs and her eyes and her voice. He knew that they would not be leaving, that they would not cross a sea together or travel north to Jon or leave together. He knew that she knew this, too. Soon her tears subsided and she steadied her breath, still grasping at the bulk of her faithful friend.

“Come, Little Bird. Your day has been long and you need your rest.” Sandor scooped Sansa into his arms, breathing deep of her scent. “Tomorrow you return to leading your people and being a Lady of Winterfell. Tonight you are mine.”

He carried her to her chambers and dismissed her handmaiden with a wink and a line about young girls drinking more than their fill of sweet wine. Slowly he undressed her, removing her necklace and hair pins, pulling at her ribbons and slipping her out of her gown. Over her head he pulled a nightgown which smelled of lemon and wood smoke, much like its owner.

 “To bed with you, lass.” Sandor pulled the covers of the feather bed back and nodded towards the warm space within.

“And you?” Sansa asked, yawning.

“I’ll be here Little Bird, making sure you get to sleep.”

To Sandor’s relief Sansa listened and climbed into her bed as ordered. He stroked her hair as she relaxed, not wanting the night to end but knowing that the morning would soon come with all its harsh realities.

“Sandor?”

“Hmm?”

“If the choice were mine, I would choose you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Sleep now.”

Sansa drifted to sleep with Sandor’s hand at her hair, stroking gently.

 


End file.
